


On Broken Wings, We Soar

by Tattered



Category: Harry Potter RPF, เพราะเราคู่กัน | 2gether: The Series (TV), เพราะเราคู่กัน | 2gether: The Series (TV) RPF
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Prison, Romance, cross-over, trial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24456103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tattered/pseuds/Tattered
Summary: On the eve of one of Wizengamot's most sensational trials, an assistant prosecutor tries to get answers.
Relationships: Sarawat Guntithanon/Tine Teepakorn
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	On Broken Wings, We Soar

**Author's Note:**

> This is purely experimental, ahhh. I was supposed to post this after I finish Lost in Translation, but the chapter I'm in is not coming together the way I want it to be. This idea needs to get out of the way.
> 
> I am marking this complete, for now. If you deem it interesting enough, you may hit me up in the comments section. Doing a cross-over will require extensive research and creating a world where the magic from both series involved doesn't lose its spark, imo. So, let's see where it goes. :) 
> 
> Brightwin isn't mine. Harry Potter isn't, as well. Even Draco Malfoy.

The last of the sun’s warmth inches its way to the coastline of the seemingly abandoned land.

A dark-robed man keeps a straight face as he watches the sunlight reflected from the pebbles lining the island. It is almost sunset, with collections of stones casting shadows on their neighboring _chedi_. Oranges and reds reflect on black pebble stones, which assume a coal-like appearance. From a distance, the air appears thick, as if a brewing storm hides just behind the corner.

The boatman rows quicker. Travel is not advisable once nightfall comes. The sea becomes harsh, and the atmosphere shifts into something more sinister than its daytime counterpart. Even the most-seasoned aurors hesitate to visit.

The man checks on his pocket watch. A few minutes before five in the afternoon.

As they near the shore, he pulls a black stone from the pocket of his robes, similar in appearance as those that litter the island. He taps it with his wand, a beauty made from poplar wood and unicorn tail hair, bathing the stone with a shimmer that mimics the barrier that appears before them. Through its slight opacity, he can see a towering structure of stone worn by time.

The boat reaches the shore, reminding him to cast _Impervius_ in the absence of a dock. He gives his thanks and pays half of their agreed payment.

A man wearing _chut thai_ appears from the bowels of the structure in front of him. The man crosses the distance between them and gives him a bow.

“Good afternoon. We have been expecting you, Mr. Tine Teepakorn,” the man greets.

He nods in acknowledgment, passing the black pebble he Is holding to the man. The stone is placed on top of the nearest _chedi_ in perfect balance, as if the stone has always belonged in it.

He leads him to a dimly-lit hall. His boots hit against smoothly polished stones, making minimal sound as he is led deeper to the building. The silence is barely shattered by their footsteps. Tine keeps his eyes at the back of the man’s head, holding the contents of his pocket tightly in one of his hands. Cold sweat begins to form in his nape.

Koh Hingham is coined by muggles and no-maj as one of the most haunted places in Thailand. To the Wizarding community, it is home to dementors banished from Azkaban after the Second Wizarding War and the most notorious criminal magicians in South East Asia. Its name is meant to send shivers down one’s spine out of fear.

Tine Teepakorn is familiar with fear.

The hallway leads to a hollow chamber, where shackles glimmer against the heavy air of magic surrounding its center. The man that accompanied him bows again before disappearing in one of the other passages surrounding the chamber. Tine focuses his attention on skin and bones folded upon itself in the middle of the room. He takes a few steps forward, until he is at arm’s length from the figure.

His eyes take in the pale expanse of his back riddled by whiplash scars, some healing and some weeping with blood. The figure’s back lifts and relaxes shallowly as he breathes. Magic-infused steel chains wrap on his reddened wrist and ankles; if the man tries, he can almost slip his hands off of them. Tine leads his eyes to the man’s face last, grime on his cheeks and eyes hidden behind pale eyelids. He rests like a babe instead of a prisoner, a stark difference from Tine’s last visit.

“Sarawat,” he calls the man’s name.

Magic hums as the man comes to his senses, blearily opening his right eye. For a moment, the man smiles, reminding Tine of the last time he saw it. Then it’s gone, as if it were only an illusion.

Sarawat Guntithanon straightens his body with a grace comparable to a gazelle. Despite his bedraggled appearance, he still is the most beautiful man Tine has ever laid his eyes on.

“What are you doing here?” Sarawat croaks, his throat dry from sleep.

“Wizengamot will give its verdict tomorrow. I thought you should know,” Tine explains, keeping his composure.

Sarawat laughs haughtily, a sound foreign to Tine’s ears. “I expect it will turn out well.”

Tine studies Sarawat as the latter walks far from him, almost reaching the edge of the chamber. The shackles grunt in protest with his movement, its shimmer intensifying. Sarawat growls as pain shoots into his body, and he drops on his knee. Tine keeps himself in place, recalling how Sarawat pushed him when he once tried to assist him in his previous visits.

“How the mighty have fallen,” Sarawat self-deprecates.

“Why did you choose this, Wat?” Tine’s tiredness reflects in his voice. In the many visits prior, he and his colleagues have kept on probing the man in front of him. There is one question they failed to ask.

“Dementor’s kiss is a fitting punishment for a soulless man like me,” Sarawat answers. Underneath the waning light from the sun, Sarawat’s features turn sharper and edgier, a predator in a prison of his own making. Tine believes otherwise.

“It wasn’t you, Wat. It was—”

“Someone still has to be held accountable.” Sarawat laughs snarkily. “With no one to return to and no one believing, who is better to be a scapegoat than the disgraced son of a Pureblood family? That is my life, Tine. They are just nipping the bud.”

Sarawat’s voice cracks as he says his name. “I’m dispensable, Tine. I’m just a bud.”

Tine takes one of the wands hidden in his pockets.

Sarawat’s eyes widen in wonder as he takes sight of his ebony and thunderbird tail feather wand. Tine can almost feel it vibrate as it lies on his hand, the presence of its owner calling to its power.

“Take it, Wat,” Tine whispers, his voice shaking.

Sarawat clenches his hands, as if holding on to the last scrap of self-control he can muster. He shakes his head and growls, almost causing Tine to jump backward. Tine stays in his place, even when Sarawat closes the distance between them. Sarawat stands before Tine, ignoring the wand in his hand.

“No,” Sarawat’s answer resonates in the chamber.

“Take it, Wat. Please take it,” Tine pleads, pressing the wand against Sarawat’s chest.

Sarawat shakes his head, staring sadly at Tine.

“Take it, Sarawat! For fuck’s sake, take it! Take it and break those damn chains!” Tine yells, hitting his fists on Sarawat’s bare chest. “Fuck Sarawat, take it!”

Tine kneels to the ground, screaming in frustration. He cries for injustice, for lost chances, for histories that will sully the man in front of him. Tine grips on Sarawat’s knees and begs. He cries as he grieves for a dead man walking.

Tine cries as Sarawat’s warm form envelops him into a cocoon. Sarawat lets him settle against his chest, ribs sharp against Tine’s wet cheeks. Tine holds onto his torso, pleading as sob after sob rattles his slight form.

Sarawat gazes at him, his own face damp. He catches Tine’s eyes, and drops a kiss on his forehead. Tine clutches on him tightly as he feels the tip of Sarawat’s wand against his temple.

Then nothing.


End file.
